


To The End Of Time, To The End Of The Earth

by jontyaxefive



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Mythology, The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Addiction, Death, Depression, Fate, Loss, Love, One Shot, Short Story, take on a greek myth, two stories combined
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jontyaxefive/pseuds/jontyaxefive
Summary: Based on a twitter conversation, a short story about the fate of Orpheus and how he became a version of Dorian Gray after he failed to bring back Eurydice during his trip to the Underworld. (In this version the original events of the Orpheus/Eurydice story doesn't take place in ancient Greece, but rather just hundreds of years ago)*Title from the song 'Wait For Me' in Hadestown*





	To The End Of Time, To The End Of The Earth

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in just a few hours, so it's not the best.

Why had he looked back? It was the question that had plagued his mind ever since that fateful moment. Had he just waited a few moments longer, had he just been a little more patient, then maybe his beautiful Eurydice would have returned with him as had been promised. Maybe they would have spent more time together, growing old and more and more in love each day. Instead, he had watched as she was taken from him for the second time. Whisked away back into the dark of the Underworld, and try as he might he could not enter to try his hand at rescuing her again. 

Orpheus prayed every night for death to take him, living in a world without his beloved was too much to bear, and every night his prayers were ignored. He begged the gods to have mercy on him, and to end his grief and misery, and still no answer came. Days passed, then weeks, and soon a full year since the untimely death of Eurydice, and Orpheus’s grief had not ceased. It was on this night of their wedding anniversary that he made a new plea to the gods. Hoping this time it wouldn’t fall onto silent ears, he asked that he remain as he was until he could convince Hades to give him a second chance, or to return his beloved to him and the world of the living. 

Years passed and Orpheus remained the same. A handsome, youthful man while a portrait, that had been a wedding present, wore the passage of time. He’d watched as seasons came and went, and rulers rose and fell. He watched as new ages were ushered in, and still he remained unchanged. Everything else of his past he could barely remember. Feelings and memories lost to time, but still Eurydice remained. He could still remember everything about her as clear as day. The sound of her laugh, the way she smelled of lavender, and the way each curl bounced as she walked. He could remember how they talked under the stars at night and fell in love, and their plans to grow old together. Perhaps it was his love for her, or a gift from the gods that she had remained so present in his mind. 

Born with the gift of music from the gods, the lyre that Orpheus had once played had become the violin, cello, guitar, banjo, and so many others. It was like some sort of magic flowed through him when he picked up a stringed instrument. Even if he had never picked one up before, as soon as he started to play it was like his fingers knew where to go. When he played it was like watching someone not of this world, and when he sang there was something haunting and beautiful about it. 

He had taken to playing shows at night in bars and other small spaces in his current life, living under the name of Dorian Gray. In decades prior he had called himself Eustace, Basil, Galen, Gregory, and many others. Each night after his sets had ended he went to the bar, ordering drinks and then finding an empty spot in the shadows to be alone with himself. Despite wanting to be alone his music had always compelled at least one person to come over and attempt a conversation with him. Dorian was always polite enough to indulge them before excusing himself back to his one room apartment, or hotel if he was traveling. 

Over the two years he had been in his current residence, Dorian had developed a friendship of sorts with the son of the man who owned the building. Henry Wotton, who in appearance only seemed to be a few years older than Dorian himself. As with many others, Henry had become entranced by him after hearing him playing the violin on his balcony one night. Henry had been the only one to get Dorian to go anywhere for fun and not as an obligation or necessity. Of course, whether or not Dorian had fun at these places was debatable. 

Dorian drank and smoked with those of a higher status than himself at these parties. Spoke to them about music and the arts, and often, after some pressure from Henry, if the host had instruments would play for them. Someone would often ask why he wasn’t famous, and Dorian would just shrug and tell them he didn’t know. Just wasn’t part of his path, he supposed. In reality the answer would be much more complicated. 

No matter how much time had passed whenever the anniversaries of his wedding, Eurydice’s death, and the day he’d watched her disappear back into the underworld came up, a feeling of loss, grief, and numbness took over Dorian. It was a period of feeling like he was in the dark with no way out. Even the things that had brought him small joys did nothing. He felt nothing. Desperate to feel something, anything, he found himself taking his earnings from his last gig, and buying something that would be guaranteed to take his pain and lack of feeling away. 

They worked. He took them and in minutes his mood changed. He felt lighter, and momentarily his grief ceased to exist. It was the second time when he first saw her. Eurydice as he remembered her was there with him. He reached out, and he swore he could touch her. She always felt so warm and it sent tingles through his fingertips, down his arm, and over his entire body. He told her about his life, and sang songs to her, and every time when he came down from his high he fell slightly deeper into his depressive state. 

Still unable to convince Hades to reunite him and Eurydice, and in a desperate attempt to see her again, Dorian started to partake in the drug on a regular basis. Sometimes he saw her and others he didn’t, and all the while the portrait he had kept in his possession all these years bore the physical traits of his age, pain, and new addiction. 

He found new vices as well, anything that could keep in the state he was whenever he saw her. Even when he couldn’t see her, he swore he could feel her presence or hear her voice whispering the name he’d had when they had known each other, Orpheus. Had it really taken him this long to discover this? Was this Hades or one of the other gods way of answering his prayers of reunion with his love? 

It wasn’t real though. None of it was real. It was a momentary sensation, and no matter what he took or how much he took, that wouldn’t change. Try as he might he couldn’t pull this Eurydice into reality. Despite the perfection of youth still staring back at him in the mirror, Dorian found it harder and harder to look at himself, and eventually covered the one on the medicine cabinet mounted above his sink. While he never felt the negative effects of the substances he took, all of those been relegated to the portrait, when he wasn’t on them he found it harder and harder to function the way he had before. The feeling of nothing and numbness that he’d felt so strongly during that specific time period, was now felt all the time, at least when he wasn’t drunk or experiencing some sort of high. Coming down was like losing her all over again. 

One night he sat in the middle of his room, playing the violin for the hallucination of Eurydice sitting across from him on his bed. It was a version of the song he had written for her on his lyre all those years ago. Tears welled in his eyes as he played and when he stopped he begged Hades not to take her away from him this time. Still, as he had time and time again, he eventually watched as she disappeared into a dark and shadowy mist. 

It was this particular night that something caught his eye underneath the bed. He reached under, pulling out the portrait. It had become hard to look at sometime ago, and he often found a hiding spot for it in each new home he had. This time had been under the bed, face-down. It had collected dust, and when he’d wiped the large clumps away with his sleeve he coughed wildly. Turning it around, and propping it against the bed he saw the decrepit image staring back at him. An absolute horror to behold. All this time he’d thought this was a gift from the gods, but now he was wondering if instead of death, they had decided upon this cruelty. He looked away from it and around the apartment, taking in the amount of empty bottles and such. What kind of person had he become?

Next to him in the portrait was Eurydice. Her image had never changed. She still looked as beautiful as the day he met her. His jaw clenched and he swallowed hard as he took in the whole thing, this horrifying monster next to this woman, whose beauty still rendered him speechless from time to time. It wasn’t right. None of this was right, and he was finally starting to see that. His hand reached out, gently touching the face of his late wife in the portrait. “I’m sorry” he whispered. “I am so sorry I couldn’t save you. I am so sorry I failed you. Please know I tried.” he closed his eyes, inhaling shakily as the tears that had been welled in his eyes started to fall and stain upon his cheeks. 

Going to the kitchen he took one of the knives from utensil drawer, testing the sharpness on his arm. It made a smooth cut that quickly disappeared, and caused the image in the portrait to appear even slightly more damaged, if that was even possible. He knelt in front of the portrait, resting his forehead against Eurydice’s, as his hand brought the knife down into the other side, stabbing repeatedly into his own image, until it had been completely destroyed. Feeling as time and all his sins and vices began to take hold of him quickly, Orpheus pulled back to see his beloved Eurydice looking back at him, even if it was only a portrait, one last time. Her smiling face being the last thing he saw before he had become nothing more than a pile of dust and bones. 


End file.
